Just Being B
by Sucktacular
Summary: A story of life before killing for Beyond Birthday.  Everything from early child-hood, living in the Wammy House, running away from the orphanage, time up to the LABB Murder Cases, and even more in between! Warning: Violence and Course Language.
1. Letter To The Reader

Greetings,

Beyond Birthday speaking. You may know me as one of the most crafty and, well- as they call me; horribly and unspeakably sick minded in the world of killers and psychopathic beings.

Not what I aimed to become, but it's nice they would use such words to describe me. Brilliant they are, really.

I decided one day that it would be useful to take the courtesy of educating those that are ignorant to my being. So, read forth. Discover. Enhance your knowledge.

The story I am about to tell is not for the faint hearted, mind you. A story of my life before killing. Even before my Wammy House "incarceration". Along with all that, a little introduction to those alphabetized into this house. Including the oh-so-famous first letter of the first generation; A.

This may be a tale, but sadly no fairy-tale. No happy endings to help you sleep. Only pointed blades that cover the floors in satiny red, overlapped with the spilled containers that once would have held this pure liquid.

The famous "Wammy's" took up a great deal of my life. No paradise. Especially in the beginning. The very beginning. We were test subjects. Guinea Pigs bread then prodded to perfection. Built to fall, it seemed.

It was either a fight to survive, or a fight to come out victorious. A war among wars. Children armed with incomprehensible amounts of knowledge and some even armed with the knowledge of the real world and how to fight to survive at any costs. Dangerous these ones were. But sometimes that knowledge was enough to break them.

Step into my world now. Into our world that once was. Watch us kick and scream while we try to win this dirty game of intellectual standings. A game never meant to be won - nor played to these extremes.

But most of all, watch as one is shifted from child into adult. Twist with me. But pass me and you'll be cold before you hit the ground.

_**Beyond Birthday**_


	2. Chapter 1:  Fate

A sweet embrace, a kiss on the forehead, a wish good night and a sweet good morning. These are things in life you never should have to dream for, to wish for, to crave. No child should have to sleep with a tear soaked pillow or in a bone chilling room. Simple things in life that some are born with, some are so peacefully granted with, things that are so basic to a child's up-bringing, that it's hard to believe that some are excluded from that life... A life I was never to have. Through life, everyone has dreams. These dreams are pieces of our mind that are collaborated together. Simple thoughts, wishes, and fears that come together to make a person experience a world that their subconscious concocts. Sadly, though, they're just dreams. Even as children, with such lightly filled minds, we are delved into this false dream world. Simple parts of our existence we have wished and hoped to be turned around, would come to life before our eyes. Alas, hope is for those that wish to escape reality. These hopeless wishes and cries for better lives, for that sweet embrace of comfort, or that wish of sweet dreams before bed. Beyond the wishes, these dreams, these hopes, lays truth; Fate.

As a child, most are consumed by toys and affection from their parents and family members. Constantly surrounded by the good old holism family bond to keep them happy and active. Most, is the key word, though. My childhood is not one to live by example. Not one to be filled with this "love" and not one to be damned upon a child. I wish I could tell you what you already know was the beginning; I was an orphan and that was that. Sadly, fate isn't kind. Every life has parts that are better not to ever exist.

Hm. Well, I guess a simple way to start off my story would be to speak of my parents.

My father, a main cause to my decent to a deep pit of insanity. He, and my mother, were both young when they had me, not yet even 20. He was tall, if I remember correctly. Short brown hair that was rarely kept in order, and hazel brown eyes. Eyes that struck fear in me when I saw them. There seemed to never be a sign of hurt in him, nor a sign of guilt in his actions and choices. He and my mother were high school lovers and moved out of their parents houses when they were about 16. I never got to meet my grandparents, though, I find it hard to believe that they were any better than my parents. Of course, it could just be my parents were both very rebellious. Either way, before I was brought into this life my grandparents, on both my mother and fathers side, had passed on. Some from early lung cancer from constant smoking at a young age, accidental death, or some other kind of fatal blow to their mortality. As could be deduced, the only family I knew was my parents. Pitiful creatures they were.

Like my father, my mother was also a drunk. While he would drink till he couldn't tell the difference between a toaster and a book, my mother would drink herself hysterical. She was about average height for a woman, with long black hair and dark black eyes. As a child, you would normally go to your mother for explanations on the complexities of life, and have her teach you morals and values. The first, and probably only lesson I learned from them, was never to confront an intoxicated person without caution. Even ones parents. The first time I did this, my father decided to use me as a punching bag, to express his anger about being kicked out of the local bar, once again. My mother didn't care, of course. She sat by on the old living room chair and laughed till she cried tears of amusement. I wasn't even 5-years-old, yet. Still just a child with an open mind to the world. A mind that quickly shut with future experiences.

Both parents are two figures in all my life I've never wanted dead so badly. So much to wish for them to leave and never return one day. To be stolen away in the cold dead night and tortured till they cried red streams. I wanted them gone and to suffer, more then I've suffered. But... I knew it was only a matter of time. Only a few years that would have to tick by till their life reached its end. How I wish I could have been there to see their demise. To hear their last breath and for them to feel what pain is. I could just see the day though, just that simple date and time that they would end once and for all. As you may have heard, by this point, the eyes of a Shinigami are quite useful. Some may consider it a blessing, to be born with such powerful oculars. But how can such a thing ever be a blessing? To see all those around you and know when they would die. To be constantly reminded all you know, all you'll ever know, will one day die. To be constantly surrounded by the reminders that death is in all forms of life, and that no human-being can escape it. It's no surprise that such reminders can have a terrible impact on one's life. From birth I was able to see the death date of the doctor that held me, of my father that welcomed me, and my mother that embraced me. That was the only day in my life where I was looking forward to the times ahead.

Open mind.

Besides for the Shinigami eyes, another odd feature is quite obviously my name. My parents did give me a name, a sickly ordinary name. Though, with their lack of attention and care, I saw it only right to give myself a name I thought fit. I was, after all, my own person. Not like my parents would care one way or another.

"Yo, Bistro, or whatever your name is, we're going to the bar! Don't break anything while we're gone!" My father shouted, with a slight chuckle to my mother, from the front corridor of the house.

I didn't care if he remembered the name I gave myself. I decided I'd no longer care, from this day forward, about anything he called me or once said to me. I sat silent in my room for a few moments, waiting for that familiar slam of the door. It was another night that they took their daily journey to the local bar to drink up and overflow their broken minds with alcohol.

"Hey!" Shouted a familiar voice, as my door shook from a fist pounding against it. "Acknowledge me when I'm telling you something, brat!" My father, an ignorant bastard filled with useless pride, was demanding my full attention. Of all people, is he really one to demand such a thing from me?

Suddenly the door flung open and he herded into my room, standing over my bed as I was huddled in my thin blankets, reading my small supply of fairy tales and novels. He looked down at me, seemingly waiting for a reply that I wasn't going to gratify him with.

He didn't deserve such things.

He bent down to get to my eye level, cold cruel eyes of a man meeting stubborn, slightly frightened, eyes of a child.

"Stop filling your head with such useless filth and pay attention to the world around you, brat." He spoke with a slight grin adorn his face. He wrenched the tattered old book from my hand and held it up to my face, both hands on either side of the book. "Fairy tales aren't true, don't be such an idiot, and grow up!" He spoke with a cruelly wicked tone. He then moved his arms, forcing the book in two, then continued to shred the pages out and threw them to the floor. As I stared at him, feeling the rage filled tears flood my eyes, I held my breath.

Only a few hours left.

He turned to me, after throwing the spine of the mangled book to the paper scattered flood. I still didn't give him a single word, I'd never give into the fear, not any more.

"Tch, ungrateful bastard. I'll punish you when we get home. You'll regret not respecting my words, you hear me!" He spat out the words as he left, intentionally stomping onto the shredded remains of my book. The door slammed and was echoed by his footsteps, leading down the hall way, and then followed by the familiar slamming of the front door. As I curled my legs up to my chest and held onto them, I heard the car engine start and rattle off into the empty streets. I tried to hold back my tears. I refused to let him soak up the gratitude of knowing he's succeeded in making another human feel like nothing but useless garbage. Not any more, not for this last day. I refused to ever have tear drenched pillows again, not for him, not for my mother, not for any of them. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and stood myself up off the bed, kneeling down to the torn remains of my favourite book and lightly stacking the pieces into a small pile. I gently placed the pieces on the shelf, beside the few books I had left, and let my arm drop to my side, as I stared down to the ground with cold empty eyes.

"You say fairy tales aren't true... and that they aren't. I don't wish for such childish things to be true. I don't wish for things that would, ultimately, tamper with the overall fate of things. Because then, what I know tomorrow brings, would have be altered drastically..." I whispered to myself, blinking away my watery eyes.

I slowly walked over to my bed and laid myself down, curling up and flicking off the bed side lamp that dimly lit the room. Pulling the covers over my head, I closed my eyes, pulling my legs close.

"I wish I could see your end."

I was only six. Too young to understand this world and all it could hold. I couldn't comprehend, at this point, the amount of power I held to see such small bits of the future, and how unnatural it was to own such power. How holding this knowledge of life to death could slip someone into such a deep psychotic frenzy. But besides all the things in life I could not yet understand, I knew, though, that fate was true. It just takes time... Time that some people didn't have to their advantage.

I filled my mind with the days to come. I would no longer need to think of that person I once called "Father", and wish for his time of ending to come quicker. Thoughts no child of my years should have ever been thinking. As I slipped into my dream world, I was surrounded by dark-grey mist. Just like all my other dreams, it started off empty and clouded. Unlike the other nights, though, that would slowly have my dream become enveloped in deceitful actions, murderous intents, and disturbing scenes, I was able to sleep peaceful. Nights I would toss and turned in my bed night, waking in a cold sweat, would be far behind me. After that night, I would no longer have to have such dreams, such frightful dreams.

I slowly faded away from my nightmares and was consumed by soft clouds of smoke and free fields. I saw children without faces, but only smiles. They skipped and played together, holding hands and enjoying their freedom. I was there with them. Playing, skipping, smiling. I was in a world I had never thought of before. Had never dreamed of before. It was peaceful, serene. There was no one to break us down from our fun. I was a child, a child that had never been given such freedom and joy. But in this world, I was free.

I was happy.

I could finally smile. My subconscious dreamed, that night, of a world that would, even under the coming circumstances, never become true.

As my mind slipped away from the dream, I slowly opened my eyes to the world that was truly around me. My room was lit by the bright sun that shot through the curtains that lightly hung beside my window. As I turned my body away from the brick wall that encased my room, I lay there loosely in my blankets with my face pressed softly against my pillow. My first night falling asleep and not awakening to a dampened pillow, to being tangled in my bed sheets from constant tossing-and-turning during the night, nor to the familiar cold sweat that would be adorn my forehead. The first day I knew I could awaken at my own will and the first day to start my life without being supplied any pain. It was the morning of February 13th, and I had been waiting for this day the moment I was brought home, as an infant, from the hospital.

I nuzzled my head lightly into my pillow and pulled my blankets closer over my body, shutting my eyes and softly smiling.

"Good morning, at last, Beyond." I announced to myself "I wonder when mother will be home." I chuckled, and then slowly opened my eyes as the grin on my face faded.

I pushed myself up off my mattress and sat up, giving a long stretch and once again exploring the room with my sleepy eyes. I stood up and lightly scurried my way across the room, opening the door, and into the warm hallways. Ironically enough, my room was the only one that didn't get heating. I slipped my hands into my sweater pockets and shuffled across the old wooden floors to the living room. I stared out the large window that lead a view directly back into the house. No matter how many times my father would commit an unforgivable act, no one would see, and if someone had been watching, night after night, they never informed the higher authorities. Just was happens when you're brought up in a rundown part of the city.

I sat myself down onto the couch and cuddled snugly into the corner, stretching my legs out onto the cushions. I felt like a prince. I lay there for a while, basking in my freedom and lightly skipping through all sorts of possibilities that lay in the future for me. My excited grin was torn from my face as I heard the twisting of the front door knob, and the creaking, followed by slamming, of the door itself. I looked over to the woman that was drenched in tears that stood feet from me.

My mother.

She was continuously sniffling and dabbing at the tears that slid own the side of her cheeks with a tissue. As she lifted her head, her red glossy eyes met mine. She'd been crying all night, it seemed.

Good.

This was the first step to my future opening wide like a gate. I had no need to ask where my father was, I knew very well where he was. I only asked for the sake of breaking the tension.

"Momma'? Where is dad?" I questioned with a fake, innocent, tone.

More tears streamed down her face and she shut her eyes tightly as she grit her teeth. In a jumbled mixture of coughing, sniffling, weeping, and talking she responded to me.

"Y-your father... I-is..." She continued to take deep breaths as the river of tears cascaded down to the floor. "H-he's not coming- He's... He's... G-gone." She finally whimpered out.

I continued to look at her, seemingly untouched by her deep expression of emotions. I lightly turned my direction away from her and to the leafless trees that stood outside the window. Clear skies, not a cloud in sight. It seemed like a perfect day, and that it was. A day I had been waiting for, for so long. Now, though, I just had to wait for the next sequence of occurrences. I did, though, have one last question. A question that, even with my ability to see one's death date, I could not answer.

"How did he die?"

Silence.

Her tears stopped for a moment as she blinked at me, seemingly perplexed by my calm tone. She sniffled lightly, ignoring her assumptions and looked off to the side, wiping her eyes, once again, with her tissue.

"W-we were walking back to the car when a man t-told us to empty our pockets and give him our w-wallets... H-he put up a struggle and... And... Was shot."

I continued to stare out the window as she told me this news. My lips stretched slowly into a grin and I chucked lightly, forgetting my mother's presence. As I was focused on the wind lightly teasing a single leaf that had survived to stay attached to the large tree in the front lawn, my mother marched over to me, threw her arm back and then proceeded to slap me across the face, leaving a hot stinging mark on my cheek.

"You're father's dead and you don't care! You owe that man your life. You should be the one dead, you useless child!"

I sat there, not moving a muscle, for a few moments as she panted and stared down at me angrily, clenching her fist. I quickly fixed my gaze on her, eyes meeting eyes. We both had such dark eyes, both that were full of hurt, but each hurt consisted of different reasons. I grit my teeth, I knew I shouldn't be saying such words in a moment like this, but I no longer cared. Time was in my favour still.

"Good riddance." I spat out at her those words, but was greeted ever so kindly by her hand leaving a familiar sting on the other side of my face.

"I regret ever bringing you into this life. I hope you burn!" She shouted the words to me. They hurt, quite a bit. But she slowly slipped into that empty space that had been provided for my father. I continued to glare at her, I imagined myself slapping her back, as hard I could. I could tell she was getting even more enraged by my cold eyes starring her down. She grabbed the top of my head by my hair and almost lifted me off the couch. I gritted my teeth and grasped her hands tightly, digging my nails into her skin, and yelping for her to let me go. She dragged me out of the living room and to the front door. She pulled me up to my feet, continuing to tightly grip my hair and glaring me dead in the eyes.

"Get out of my house."

She reefed the door open and threw me onto the pavement outside. I held my head tightly, clamping my eyes shut, and gritting my teeth as my eyes started to water, not from being disowned by my mother, but from the pain. I forced my eyes open, back up to her, as I lay, curled in pain, on the ground. Through my tightly clenched teeth, before she slammed the door shut on me forever, I shot, the last words she'd ever hear from me again, at her.

"Your time is soon enough. I wish I could see how you end, but I hope you are the one to burn!"

She snuffed my words off and slammed the door shut in front of me. I heard the thumb turn lock clamping the door shut and the chained lock being slid shut.

I lay there for a few moments. Not waiting for anything, but collecting my thoughts. I slowly let go of my head and lifted myself, delicately, off the cement ground. I held my side, that had broken my fall, with my bare hands. The wind softly wiped light snow flakes across my feet, that were only protected by worn socks, and back into the air. I looked out towards the empty streets. No one was outside, everyone was gone. I took a breath and exhaled, expelling a light cloud from my breath into the air. I limped down the step way, away from that house. I would never have to live in such a home again, I would never look back from this point on. I reached the end of the step way and glanced down to the curb, ending my parents, now my mothers, property. I took a deep breath and stepped off the curb, still holding my side. It hurt to walk, and I was scared of the open future. But I was safe in my childish thoughts that I'd never have to hurt again. Children are ignorant, it's true. But, even with that ignorance surrounding many aspects of life, I had learned now that I could only trust in one thing; that fate was real.


End file.
